Crossroads
by Farrendahl
Summary: Cossroads is a - hopefully growing - collection of oneshots about the minor and major challenges, a Captain of Crossroad Keep might have to face.
1. For moments like these

**For moments like these**

The greycloaks were laughing. Even Avad, the greenhorn, who joined them only a few days before, grinned shyly.  
"Whoa … a great pleasure, Captain! Another one!" clamoring for a new song, Khelgar slammed his half-empty beer mug onto the bruised table board, carrying on the beat of the recent one.

"The seven virgins of Eralwyn, please!"

"The forest-beast and the armorer!"

"Hell of a ride to Griffindell!"

"You're asking for a helluva ride? You'll get it! On the drill field! Right at daybreak!"

Lieutenant Kana stood in the wide open door of the Inn; slender, fair and beautiful, like the blade of her sword - Aloof like the Unreachable East where she came from. Her almond-shaped eyes were sparkling. The cheerful noise in the _Phoenix Tail Inn_ ceased abruptly at her entering. The soldiers, Sal the innkeeper, and even the Captain of Crossroad Keep ducked their heads.

"Kana, ouch!" whispered Torias. "I think this goose is cooked ..." With visible regret, he laid his mandolin aside to greet his adjutant. The young woman answered his salutation with a short nod. Looking over the group that was frozen in embarrassed silence, she snorted, displeased.

"Just a word with you, Captain," she asked curtly, "Outside - Not here in front of the men!" Then she turned on her heel and left the Inn, her flying cape following her like a thundercloud.

"Ouch!" Neeshka giggled and toasted the halfling with her glass of wine. "Good luck, Torias. Think you're gonna need it this time. She looks really … pissed off."

Khelgar followed suit. "You've got my deepest sympathy," he grumbled.

Torias shrugged - smiling. "This had to happen sooner or later," he said airily before giving his men an encouraging wink. "Don't worry, I'll deal with her. But be prepared - It's going to be a tough day tomorrow. You know the drill."  
He closed the door and obediently followed Kana into the quiet night.

* * *

She was awaiting him under the lantern nearest to the Inn. "Captain, I can't tolerate this behavior any longer!" she burst out angrily.

Torias smiled. "I'm also glad to see you, Lieutenant! What is bothering you, that it can't be discussed while enjoying a fine carafe of wine?"

The small but well-toned woman looked at him frowning. "This is exactly what I'm talking about: a pitcher of wine, two tankards of ale, three jolly songs …We are at war, Captain, and you are with the men celebrating festivals!"

"Oh!" he replied, after seeing his adjutant's thunderous expression. For just a moment there was silence in the courtyard. Torias thoughtfully scratched his bristly chin.  
"Hmmm…" Then he nodded. The shadows of the old walnut's branches - gently swayed by the nighttime breeze - hid his smirk. "Right you are," he said. "This is a matter you really can't discuss hidden behind a bottle of … whatever … Let's take a walk." He turned to the large gate and invited Kana with open arms to follow him.

"Good evening Captain …. Lieutenant!" the watch at the gate hailed the nocturnal walkers.

"Good evening … Silas, right?"

"Aye Captain!"

"How is …"

"Everything's quiet here, Captain. Nothing to report!"

Torias laughed and then shook his head. "No, Silas - that isn't what I wanted to know. How is Narami? Isn't it about time soon?"

The happy grin on the soldier's face widened. "She's fine, Sir. She's bulky and round - and aglow with happiness. According to the herb-woman … half of the moon is left, at the utmost, and if the child's a boy we will call him …"

"Shush, greycloak! Where I'm from, first of all, the child learns his name - and not till then, his father's Captain will learn it."

* * *

Reaching the cobbled way that would lead them into the near fields and out of the guardian's earshot, Kana once again shook her head in disapproval. "Damn, Torias, You're doing it again!"

"Doing what?"

"Mollycoddling the men!"

Moonlight swept over the land and the wind made waves dancing upon the oat and barley-fields, giving them the shiny appearance of iridescent lakes. Torias climbed the uppermost rail of Orlen's wooden fence, poked around, and then, absentmindedly, started - in Kana's eyes, a way the Crossroad Keep's Captain never should behave - to dangle his feet.

"Oh!" he said once more - sounding sorry like a child, caught by his mother with his hand in the cookie jar. But suddenly his face brightened up. "Hello Squeek!"  
A grey-white tomcat carefully walked the roughly cut log of ash-tree on which he was sitting. The cat impetuously rubbed his head against the halfling's hip and with a loud purr enjoyed getting scratched amply on the back of the neck and between his ears.

"No, don't tell me," Torias anticipated Kana, "I'm mollycoddling the cat, too. Am I not?"

Kana gave him an annoyed grumble. "You're trying to get around this!"

"Not at all - I am here and there's no place for me to run. By the way - do you know why this little tiger is called Squeek?"

"We have been discussing the men, _Captain_!" Her temper was barely under control. "And you want to... play with an ally cat!"

The animal intently looked the Lieutenant over for a while; his eyes glowing green, the pupils big and round like a pair of black moons. But suddenly something grabbed his attention - a sound, intended for his ears only. He purred shortly, almost as if he wanted to apologize for his hasty departure, and then without a sound, he vanished into the nightly shadows. Shortly after there was a sad squeaking sound coming from the fields.

The following words Torias spoke with an earnestness Kana never would have believed him capable of; "That's why," the halfling explained. "Believe me - He is one of Faerûn's best mousers, just as you are the best trainer the men will ever have. For the sake of all the gods you gorgeous women of Shou-Lung refuse to believe in, I would trade you for no one; Not Nevalle nor any of the other Nine!"

Just like the cat before, the Captain gave her a steady look. Kana was amazed to find herself at eye level with him; And not only because he had chosen his seat on top on the fence. The man sitting in front of her wasn't any longer the gray-haired, devil-my-care bard, who would sing juicy songs for the men and give the women a wolf whistle. In front of her sat the Captain of Crossroad Keep. The man who - as rumor had it - was able to kill a demon with his sword as well as with his song; the man who, according to Scalesinger the local merchant, sold his most precious lute to fund the reconstruction of the battered fortification; the man about whom Nevalle warned her half kidding-half seriously: _'Don't sell him short. Master Tahvi …. Torias … is a sly old fox. He loves to be underestimated. It's his way to win battles …'_

"You teach the men to handle shield and sword like nobody else could teach them. They are strong, persevering, clever, and tough. The best of them fight far better than me by now," Torias continued. "No, there is no fault I could find with your work. You indeed teach the men how to fight well."

"But …" Kana raised an eyebrow. It did not escape her notice that the Captain left this sentence open.

"What do you think they are fighting for?"

"What a question! For Neverwinter, for Lord Nasher, for glory!"

The bard slightly shook his head. "No, Kana - this is what _you_ stand for - With every fiber of your being. This is _your way_. Do you think the likes of Avad or Silas would take up your cause?"

"Of course not. It took me years to see it and years again to master it. The _Way_ is a manner of looking at the world even your western scholars fail to see. So how should common countrymen …" Embarrassed she bit her tongue. "Excuse me. I didn't want to offend you and the men."

But Torias didn't seem offended at all. "You did not - How could the truth ever be insulting? You are right: they are common people: farmers, basket-makers, linen-weavers. And deep within they always will be what they are - even if we call them soldiers or greycloaks"

"They need other things to fight for," Kana pursued the line of thought. "Simple things, like … like …"

The Captain smiled kindly at the young woman's thoughtfully furrowed brow.  
"a mug of ale at a hard day's end, the summer's harvest, the life of an unborn child,?" he suggested gently. "The _Way_ is not at odds with the common man," he concluded.

Kana's eyes widened in astonishment. "Yes," she whispered, surprised. "Yes - Now I understand, what you're doing; You show them what's worth fighting for." She bowed respectfully to him according to the tradition of the eastern people." And now, I begin to understand why some call you _Master_."

When she straightened up, she saw the Captain stretching his hands towards the keep. Lost in thought, looking over his fingertips, he watched the newly rebuilt stone parapet overlooking his perch.  
"What are you doing?" she asked, puzzled.

"It has been a long and hot summer-day. And although the sun has set long ago the walls still warm the land. Do you feel it, too?"

He invitingly pointed at the empty space beside him and Kana sighed with resignation. She looked around, assuring herself that no one was watching her. Then she swung herself up beside him and stretched her palms toward the mighty walls. The Captain was right: The _Ki_ flowing towards her breathed summer, sun, and light.

"Earlier - Did you know, the tom would catch a mouse?" she asked after a little while.

"No... I didn't," Torias confessed...

"But ..."

"I 've watched him catch mice here every night. He's a hunter - It's his nature. And I trusted him not to fail me this time - As I now ask you to trust me not to fail you and the men," he added frankly.

A few more moments of silence passed, before Kana put forth another question:  
"What about you? What are _you_ fighting for, Torias?"

The halfling closed his eyes, smiling. "For moments like these…" he gently replied, hoping she would finally understand.

The young woman nodded. Then Nevalle's words came to her mind again: _'Master Tahvi is a sly old fox … It's his way to win battles - and hearts.' _No, she would not give in that easily! With an angry growl, she slipped off the fence and headed for the main gate. "I want to see the men on the drill field at daybreak," she snarled, looking back over her shoulder at him. "The men and _you_, Master Tahvi!"


	2. Taming the wolf

**Taming the Wolf**

Crossroad Keep – finally! Torias was looking forward to trading in his dusty and sweaty clothes; first for a hot bath and then for a soft blanket. Patrolling with the new recruits had given him a vague idea of how his friend Kesh's masters Ginadh and Idrah, must have felt when she and her companion Shan were whippersnappers. He sighed. The memories of those three lonely days, he'd spent together with Kesh deep in the Anauroch, were almost as old as he was now.

After the first purification ritual that Zhjaeve had led them through, they unexpectedly felt as young as Mim. Mim, the tiniest member of Wolf's urchin gang, who now - though he barely had entered the inner courtyard - clung to his cape like a cockleburr.

"Unca Taaahbi!" There was an urgency in her tiny voice, when she resolutely pulled at him in a vain effort towards the far gate. Come ... come..." she insisted, resuming her tugs at his cape. "Anty Neesha sen' me. She aww sad... say, aww 'bout wife and def … say you save woof butt. Come! Now! Huwwy!"

Alerted by the simple but serious way she was delivering her message, Torias instantly dropped his armor and field pack. As he noted from the corner of his eye, one of his men wordlessly cared for his equipment. _Good lad!_ He'd have to mention this to Kana, she was doing a fine job. "Where to, Mim?" he asked, sweeping her up into his arms.

"Bowwow house, huwwy!" she said, with eyes as big as saucers. After setting her back on her feet, he made his way to the troop's quarters.

* * *

"Torias! Praise Tymora, you're back!" Neeshka literally flew towards him across the corridor. Her face was pale, making the brown spots covering her neck and forehead look even more delicate. "Please … I … Bish … It wasn't my fault, really … you know …"

Torias's discovery that Neeshka's jerkin was stained with blood and her eyes were reddened as if she had been weeping was cause for him to worry. "What happened, lass? Are you hurt?"

"No," Neeshka sobbed, "not me, it's Bishop! But Karnwyr - he won't let us pass!"

She desperately pointed towards the entrance to the ranger's quarters. His wolf companion, Karnwyr, was sitting in front of the door. In front of him – at a safe, respectful distance – Elanee was crouched. Her gentle words and friendly talking had no effect on him. With flattened ears, refusing to give ground, he snarled at the elf. No doubt – his master was gravely wounded and he would let no-one near. Had Bishop set the wolf to guard the door? To Neeshka, that made no sense. "Not even Elanee's magic can get through to him," the tiefling lamented.

"Did you try something different, besides magic?" Torias wanted to know.

"Erm … something different?" Neeshka blinked at him, puzzled. "Torias, this is a wolf – a wild, dangerous beast!"

"Bowwow", giggled Mim, who had finally caught up with Torias and peered inquisitively at the wolf from her favorite place between the halfling's legs. The bard nodded. "That, he is. Tell me, Mim ... And how do you interest a watchdog if you want to sneak by him?"

Mim thoughtfully poked a finger up her nose. Then her elf-like face brightened up. "Mim's know, Mim's know, can I, can I…," she chanted, begging.

"Of course, sweetheart. But don't get nabbed by uncle Sal," he admonished, smiling at her enthusiasm.

"Sow not nab, unca Taaahbi," the little urchin proudly replied and snuffled. She then scurried off, to find something in the kitchen that wolves would like.

Neeshka, who had followed the conversation in bewilderment, groaned in frustration. "A juicy piece of meat," she ventured a guess.

With his hand on his hips, Torias looked up at her. "There, Mim figured it out and you couldn't? – and you call yourself Neverwinter's best thief, hmmm?" He instantly stopped the teasing, when he saw the tiefling girl near to tears again. "What happened, Neeshka?" he asked softly.

"It has been so boring without you and Moss-Breath. The Moon Elf Wizard and Firehair had their daily quarrel in the library, the Tree Hugger and the Paladin were with the farmers and the Gnome was working on his tin man. So we occupied ourselves – Bish and I."

Torias nodded to her. "Go on …"

"The old, tumbledown tower, Master Veedle hasn't rebuilt yet," not meeting his gaze, she looked down at her feet," we made a bet: Who'd be the first to reach the top… Bishop over the spiraling stairs inside or me climbing the wall outside."

"Yes?" he asked gently, afraid of where she was going with her admission.

"The stairs were rotten…" she let the statement hang, watching his reaction.

He looked up from the loyal wolf who was only guarding his wounded human companion. "He fell." It was a statement, not a question. His disapproval of their horseplay was hard for him to hide.

Neeshka closed her eyes, once again fighting back tears. "That stubborn sod!" she sobbed, "why in the nine hells did he have to go on? He almost made it up to the spire before the whole thing gave way beneath him, throwing him down …"

She reluctantly snuffled into her sleeve. "Excuse me," she murmured then, trying to smile, "You must think I'm some kind of baby, but if he dies, I'll get the blame ... you know?" Then she went on; "It took me and two of Veedle's workers to pull him out of that pile of debris. One of the broken floor beams speared him. There was so much blood …" Her lower lip was trembling. "The men carried him upstairs into his room and I ran like the hells to get Elanee. And now that filthy beast of a wolf … That bastard Bishop won't let us in! Torias, what are you going to do about it?" She angrily stamped her foot.

It didn't take long until Mim returned. With merry laughter, she dashed along the corridor, carrying a package half as big as she was.

"Bowwow!" she chirped while sidling by the adults and approaching Karnwyr, who now took an interest in Mim's offering. "Yumm-Yummy!" she held it up for him to see and to smell.

Then she dropped the delicacy, the Keep Captain's supper, a stone's throw away from Bishop's room door. And Torias was quite sure, that the old wolf was grinning when he left to give way and dig in to the hearty meal.

* * *

The joists' worrisome moaning and the crescendo of the plaster raining down from the walls were an unmistakeable sign – the old staircase was loosening from its fittings. He knew: it would slump down like a weary, old snake curling up to sleep. But at that point he would have reached a safe place up there on the wall. There were only three turns left, then two, then …suddenly his foot trod emptiness. He tumbled with a curse and ripped his hands when he tried to get a hold on the next brittle, splintering step. The final jolt made the last bolt, that had held the wavering staircase, break free from the wall with a shriek of tortured metal on stone.

Then there wasn't too much left that he could remember. Sky, clouds, walls, and splintered lumber – all whirling around him faster and faster; stones, dust, and a rolling crimson wave of pain, that washed away the reality ...

Someone entered his room and sneaked past Karnwyr. Who? Elanee, the tree-worshipper? She and the accusing looks she used to give him – that's the last thing he needed! "Get out," he murmured, sounding quite unconvincing. Then he tried to open his dust-glued eyes. It felt like an eternity until at last he was able to stand the dim half-light in his room.

On the chair next to his bed sat, Torias, cross-legged with his elbows resting on his knees and his chin in his palms, wordlessly watched him. "Bish," he finally said. "You're a lamebrain, really. If you wanted to know what fun it is to kick around with a shard in your chest – why didn't you simply ask me?" He shook his head, sighing.

For some time there was only the crackling sound of the burning wood in the fireplace nearby. Then it was accompanied by a strange, raspy noise. The ranger was laughing – gasping and coughing, but laughing nonetheless. And the red mark on the linen strip that Neeshka had wrapped around his chest as an improvised dressing, grew considerably faster. The man lifted the hand he had been pressing on the wound. Frowning, he watched the blood that was on it running into his sleeve.

"You're a gobshite, Torias," he groaned."You know that Neeshka's knowledge of healing reaches as far as her tail on a cold winter's night… and you're going to make me die of laughter." He coughed once again and spewed blood. "Damn, don't you want to do something about that?"

" What exactly are you thinking of Bish?" Torias asked, wanting him to admit he needed help from someone else.

"A healing would be great!" _I have to draw a picture for this ass! _was the ranger's unspoken retort.

Torias lifted the cloth and peered at the gash. Then he sadly shook his head. "This hole? No dice, lad! Maybe if you hadn't had the silly idea of setting Karnwyr at the door to keep us out, and pulling out that piece of wood before a healer could care for you; then I probably could have helped you."

"Torias ..." He meant it as a threat, but it failed miserably.

The bard didn't give in. "Look, I've been on patrol with the youngsters for almost two days. And I had to patch up half of them three times. I'm all run down. I don't know whether I'm coming or going," he explained. But before he turned to leave the room, he took off the red and golden glowing amulet he was wearing and handed it over to the ranger. "There you are! This will help you hang on until you come up with a way out."

Bishop was aghast. He stared at the closing door and the shining trinket that gave him just enough strength to stay alive. "Damn you, Tahvi …" he murmured. "Damn, damn, damn!"

Then he took a deep breath. "Elanee!" he roared as loud as he could.


	3. Two on the tower's top

**Two on the Tower's Top**

_The sinking desert sun was about to touch the edge of the far dunes, marking the passage between the Great Sand Sea and the the Plain of Standing Stones, when the slender woman put aside her sword, visibly content with the edge her honing gave it. Smiling, she playfully wrestled the wineskin from her companion's hands and took a hearty draft._

"_Torias, I think, we should call it a day now. Dashnaya is surely waiting for you. And I ... I will need some time to prepare for tomorrow, to regain some … balance," she explained then._

"_Balance? Kesh, just look at me: I'm still able to stand my ground one-legged. Even after three mugs of brandy and a firkin full of dwarven brew!"_

_The woman laughed, when she watched the halfing masterly demonstrating his ability. No way – he really was good at that … Even after two skins of Ao Wine! Then she became serious. "That is not the kind of balance I'm talking about… Look, little fox: the sword at your side has two edges; the coin in your purse has two faces …"_

_

* * *

_

Casavir restlessly tossed and turned in his bed. The day that lay behind him, had been as dark as the now moonless night, which cloaked the world beyond the keep's confining walls. Like twines of grey smoke, memories reached for him, again and again, rousing him from the security of a deep sleep.

Eventually, he sat up with a moan, shook his head, and rubbed his forehead, as if doing so would shoo away the gloomy thoughts. In vain! Maybe the cold night air would help …

The paladin opened up one of the heavy, stained glass windows to discover that sleep apparently had forsaken not only him tonight. The wind carried bits of a strange song to him. He recognized the voice of Master Tahvi - and on the other hand, almost did not recognize it. Could it be the spectre of his master returning from an unknown future, or just the distance between them?

The sound was restrained and hoarse, like that of an old flute, which has been played far too often. The words were alien to him and much more alien was the tune: trapped between two harmonies, it invoked mixed feelings. Though uplifting, it seemed to tell about loss and doubt.

* * *

He located the bard high upon the west tower. Torias, whom most inhabitants of the keep respectfully called 'Master Tahvi', sat on the steps of the staircase leading up to the parapet walkway. He was wearing a tunic and loose trousers made of light, buff goat's-wool - the garb of the merchants - whose caravans, for centuries, crossed the Great Desert on the Black Road. The faint glow of a single magical light was mirrored by the lenses of his eyeglasses. Looking over their rim, his friendly eyes blinked at the paladin. "Casavir - at this late hour? I hope I didn't wake you?"

"Don't worry, Master Tahvi!" Following the inviting gesture of the gray-haired man, the paladin took a seat next to him on a mantle that was spread over the cold stone. Through the dim light, he recognized the sophisticated embroidery of the Red Wizards of Thay. The stitchery covered the whole fabric, causing it to emanate unusual warmth.

Master Tahvi gave him an apologetic smile. "One of the few amenities I indulge in when I'm not forced to be the Keep's commander, but Torias, the merchant, or Master Tahvi, the storyteller," the halfling explained. Then, forestalling Casavir's next question, he once again looked down at the parchment in his lap. "Yes, it's from Illefarn, old Elvish, in fact?; a lament or a death watch… I still have to figure it out. The words aren't easy to translate."

Amazed, Casavir raised an eyebrow. "The scroll - it's from Balaur's library?"

Master Tahvi nodded. "I thank my lucky stars; I found it amidst the wards and banes. Did you know, that music for the elves and dwarfs of Illefarn wasn't …," he searched for an adequate word, "just … music? It often had a purpose. The chants were able to open hearts, eyes, and portals." He sighed wistfully. "Alas, I'd give my right arm to activate the song portal in the ruins we discovered today!"

The magic light hovering above the halfling's shoulder was on the verge of dying. With just two words, whispered gently, that an unwary listener would have taken for rustling leaves, he emblazed it anew, bathing the top of the tower in soft light and banishing the nightly shadows. "What's robbing you of your sleep, my friend?" Master Tahvi took off his glasses and gave the tall fighter of Tyr a thoughtful look. "It's the Guardian, isn't it?"

Casavir ran his fingers through his hair. In the light of the magic orb, the first gray strands shone like silver. "Yes, it's the Guardian. Moreover, the man he once was," he verified the halfling's guess. "To think about the inconceivable sacrifice he made - only to serve his empire …"

Master Tahvi sighed, shaking his head. "They … erased him, Casavir! His name, his very being, his love and his laughter - all, that made him what he was. They eternally tied his existence to only one single purpose: to protect a realm, that was built by men - and that finally was destroyed by men. Couldn't there have been a less cruel and less perilous way, than to fool around with magic like boisterous children?"

He winced when these words suddenly woke up a memory he thought lost forever in the battle of Westhaven: _Undrentide like a wounded gull_ _tumbling down towards the torrid desert. There had been a l__urid blue wave of untamed magic, punching through Xanos' protective shield and washing over __a number of __winters younger Torias; waking dormant powers deep within him. Powers he never had asked for …_

"How strong and unshakable he must have been in his belief, if he underwent this torture by choice," the paladin went on. The gaze of his unflinching blue eyes trailed away into the far distance… "… to do the only right thing for his people," he mused.

"The echo of his suffering still resounds within the ruins. Everywhere …," the bard cut him off in a low voice, straining to keep his composure. "Didn't you hear it? His cries full of pain, the helpless sobbing, and the beseeching pleas? The dry scraping of silvering fingernails on unforgiving rock and the mute begging for an end, when his voice finally refused to obey him?" He paused for a moment. "No, you really didn't hear it …," he whispered.

Casavir put a calming hand on his arm. "Not the way, you did, Torias - Not as clearly as you. More blurred and ephemeral like fragments of a dream. A dream of a perfect champion: fighting for law and justice … unwavering, invincible and unerring."

"Unerring, ha!" Master Tahvi's laughter held a sardonic touch. "… Until Karsus decided to commit his folly and tear apart Mystryl's weave. He not only laid waste to the flying cities of Netheril, but he destroyed the nation he was set to defend! I wonder, if he even knew that he was depriving his worst enemy's guardian of his life-force. That he forced him to decide between failing, for he had to die, or failing, for he - in order to accomplish his mission - had to abandon himself to the Shadow Empire's magic."

"And yet!" Casavir clenched his fists. "This question is torturing me to no end: What, if a part of the Guardian is still alive; hidden deep down at the bottom of what once used to be his soul? What if these doubts bar me from making the right choice at the critical moment? … What if the King of Shadows is not evil to the core?" he added more quietly.

"Not evil to the core … ," the bard murmured, like speaking to himself. The eyeglasses slipped from his hands, hit the stone floor, and shattered into sharp and shiny shards. "Not … evil … to … the … core?" he echoed, speaking up and carefully measuring every word. "Not?" Then he jumped up, losing his temper. The cloak beneath his feet started to glow an unnatural red, the magic orb's light suddenly glittered - dazzling. Casavir knew about the power the halfling was capable of putting into his voice and he backed off, surprised by the fact that he, now, was using it against him.

"Not?" This single word, barely more than a whisper, was rolling like thunder. Its energy swept the paladin off the stairs and dashed him painfully to the marble pavement.

"**Not?** Went in _six_ - came out _one_!" Master Tahvi's voice seemed to have risen like a windstorm. He spread his arms and threw his head back. "Did you forget about them, champion of Tyr?"

Torias lowering his eyes took Casavir's breath away - The face of the bard had changed. Sure, it still looked like him. But here and there, intangible, blurry, but yet frighteningly real, it became overlaid with the delicate features of a woman, characterized by the high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes of the eastern people. And even the halfling's hair seemed to change color: it looked darker with streaks of glowing crimson.

Desperately Casavir struggled against the force, which ruthlessly was pushing him back down on the floor and pressing the air out of his lungs. "Torias, please …," he groaned.

The wind's howling ceased. And so did the iron grip that was squeezing his chest. A burdensome silence spread over the two men. The bard dropped his arms and climbed down the stairs, gazing at the paladin with night black eyes. Casavir squinted. The shadow the halfling was casting in the magic twilight was … wrong. It was a woman's silhouette, sometimes … at least. And sometimes… he imagined, an animal - A lion, a tiger?

"Went in _six_ - came out _one._ _Six_ blades, by black fire's might hammered into_ one_," Torias whispered in a chant, which made the paladin freeze in horror. Like the Silken Sisters from Arvahn's ruins, whose fate the bard was evoking, he now spoke with many voices: considerate and firm - his own, perhaps a bit younger and brighter than usual; warm and womanly - the second, but choked by tears of rage. The third voice was lost to humanity. Sounding like a tiger's snarl, it resonated - growling within each spoken word.

"The Silken Sisters, six of Illefarn's best warriors: they were the first ones, they sent against him. And he killed them _all!_ - _Without hesitation._ Do you remember? _But he __wasn't content_ _with that - No. He wrenched their souls from their bodies. _But even that didn't satisfy him. He took them, all six of them … _and crushed them into a single one_. Six souls into one. _Into a single one! Eternal. Do you know, what that means? Can you __comprehend__ it, Champion of Tyr?" _

Tears ran from Master Tahvi's eyes. He took another step towards the warrior, who - still bound to the ground - grimly fought against the force that made his limbs feel like a lead weight. _"And even this wasn't enough for him - No. Three of them he robbed of voice, eyes and ears. _Do you know how it feels to suffer in the dark, to not be able to foresee an end, to not hear a word of comfort or to be unable to cry to ease the pain?" Slowly Master Tahvi reached out to Casavir. Magic was dancing between his fingertips; tiny blue-white sparks, surrounded by a halo of gloomy violet - Death Magic.

Crawling on all fours the paladin backed off, until his heels touched the tower's outer wall, until there was no escape left. "Torias, for the sake of all things that are near and dear to you here and now! Come to yourself," he made a last, desperate effort to pull the halfling out of the fatal maelstrom of memories - Without avail.

"Can you bring to mind the agony of six souls touching each other, even if only for a blink of an eye? Then, Paladin of Tyr, can you finally see what hells the hammering of them into one would be?" Master Tahvi's fury was now at hand.

"No!" In despair Casavir covered his face with both arms, when only the width of a sword was left between him and the bard's hand.

* * *

Later he wasn't able to recall, which of the spells he'd been casting first. In the place, where their energy collided with the bard's magic, the air seemed to ignite and a ghostly, soundless explosion inundated the world around them first in blinding light, then in stygian darkness. Dust and silence settled over the tower's top.

A sustained moaning, followed by a restrained but hearty curse and a gentle healing chant woke the paladin from his dizziness. "Torias?" Casavir lifted himself off the litter strewn floor. "Are you hurt?"

"Damn, yes - there's almost no bone left unbroken, I think." The rumble of stones falling to the ground came from the dark beyond the slowly settling cloud of dust. A pale magic light glimmered. "And the remaining bones Master Veedle is going to crush for sure, once he discovers the permanent impression I left in his wall." Master Tahvi's laughter turned into a tortured cough.

"This is not funny, Torias!" Casavir dusted off his clothes and took a few shaky steps towards the dim glow.

"No, you're right", he heard the bard's answer. "Excuse me! But now - are you still in doubt about making the right decision at the right time?"

Casavir froze. "This has been a test?" he asked puzzled. "All this …," in a somewhat helpless gesture he pointed at the fully devastated stonework, "only to resolve my doubts? Torias, you're barking-at-the-moon mad!"

"Well, let's say," the halfling struggled to get back onto his feet, but finally gave up. With his face contorted with pain he sank back down to the floor. "It seems I fought above my weight. Lend me your hand, please!"

When they later - Master Tahvi was heavily leaning on Casavir's arm - hobbled towards the stair landing, the paladin sensed that the bard still was trembling - With cold, with faintness, with fright? Exhausted, they dropped on the stairs. Torias examined the devastation with narrowed eyes. "For all the gods' sake! I've been greatly overestimating myself. I didn't have it under control, did I?"

Shivering, he wrapped his arms around his chest. Casavir grumbled in agreement and reached for the red cloak, which still was in place, covering their seats. "Couldn't there have been a less cruel and less perilous way to test me, than this one?" he asked, carefully covering Master Tahvi's shoulders with the cape.

"Such as?"

"You would ask me to jump from the pinnacle of this tower; I would have a look at the long way down and would declare you insane. The result would be the same, but we wouldn't have to be on the run from Master Veedle …"

"Casavir …," the halfling's shoulders were shaking again - this time with cautious laughter. "Can this be true: you were … joking?"

* * *

"… _the point is to let the coin dance on the very tip of the blade."_

"_Aha … and - can you do so?"_

"_Torias, do I look like Master Ginadh?"_

"_White hair, wrinkled face, walking stick? Nope, Kesh. Fortunately not!"_


	4. The flame and the rock

**The Flame and the Rock**

You've got to get close to the flame to see what it's made of.

You've got to get close to the flame to see what you are made of.

My Little Phoenix

Tarja Turunen

Qara slipped into the recently rebuilt library. Carefully, she closed the door, making herself comfortable on an old fur placed in front of the fireplace tucked away in a corner to chase away the chill. A fireplace in a room full of old books wasn't a good idea, but Master Veedle took pity on Aldanon and exercised great care in the placement of the hearth.

Obediently, like a well-trained pet, the flame yielded to her will, burned calmer, steadier, and finally sent a reddish-golden blossom-tendril towards her. It twined around her wrist and, with a gentle sizzling noise, climbed up the sleeve of her chemise - Not crackling in hunger and rage, but fondly caressing, like a lover's hand. Fire - it was as manifold in shape, as it was endless in emotion ... Her life's pleasure was shaping it to reflect her current mood.

Suddenly, she noted that something was disturbing the fire's intimacy. Annoyed, she furrowed her brow and took a look around the dusky room. There was a carafe standing on the little table near a bookshelf, and next to it a wine glass; both yet untouched. A flaming flower's shine playfully danced within the bottle's crystal. She knew, whose they were; and that both of them, at this time of the day, should have been emptied long since. That was an odd thing! Where was he?

Then she noticed his leather boots in front of the armchair. They lay on the floor, dirty as always, and carelessly thrown one upon the other. Today they were covered, not only by the dust of the streets they had traveled, but also by the greasy patina of a home wiped out by fire - Smoldering wood and smoldering rage in equal parts.

She winced when she met his gaze, for she had never seen him sinister and brooding like he was now. "Excuse me, I didn't want to bother you," she murmured shyly. The fire blossom on her arm ceased with a soft sizzle.

Sighing, he closed weary eyes. "You didn't disturb me, luv. It's good, to see you here." A trace of the boyish smile she liked so much brightened his face. "What are you, of all people, doing here in the bookworm of Crossroad Keep's cave?" he wanted to know.

Bashfully she twiddled a ribbon, which gathered her blouse's wide sleeves. Her voice sounding faint-hearted, she coyly answered his question. "This is the _last_ place,_ I _would look for me." Her eyes belied her voice with their candor.

"I ... don't follow you ...," he admitted, leaning forward to gently take her hands.

Her stunning emerald eyes scanned the room ... found his mild brown ones again. "In my room there's a face in the fire," she finally explained. "My face ... But it's a different face. It's a wicked face. Its eyes are cold embers." _As cold as his hands,_ she thought, now feeling ill at ease. _It must be this cursed place - the_ _damned ancient magic pervading these walls_, _like a tenacious fog, it's covering our hearts!_

"Join me by the fire. Your hands are cold as ice," she invited and breathed a sigh of relief when he left his chair to take a seat next to her on the old, tattered, but comfortable fur.

"And this face - are you afraid of it?" he asked after a moment of speculation.

_Afraid?_ She wondered if he'd respect her less, if she told him the truth - _yes, she was. _Then she resolutely shook her head and replied, "It's not as frightening as the days that lie behind us."

He looked at her, raising his eyebrows, as she desperately tried to find the right words. "You and me - we are akin. I am fire and you ... are an old and strong rock ... A rock I could always lean on." She looked away, trying to find the right words. "Let me be the sun that warms you," she entreated.

She reached for the flames and shaped a faintly glowing sphere. "This is what we are: warmth and shelter and protection." The orb transmuted into a burning flower - Sparks rising from its petals like dancing butterflies. "And this: beauty and airiness," she circled the bloom with open hands, "And passion and pain." Her hands nurtured the flame - it flared at her touch.

Before her construct could burn out, she tenderly picked it out of the air and sent it back to where it came from. "This is what we need - Not blue-silver blades of chilly, unloving moonlight, but ... the light and warmth of the sun!"

Annoyed, she blinked away a tear, made it vanish from her cheek like a raindrop would evaporate from a hot stone. Her eyes, once again, found his, "Yes, this face scares me. But, I fear much more ...," she stopped, unsure about the right way to tell him. The flame in the fireplace became motionless for a moment.

Then she went on: "Every time we went into battle, you were with us. Dauntless and bold like the fox whose name you wear." She smiled, lost in this memory. "But today, when we banished the shadow in the swamps ... you were amidst us, and yet - you weren't. Do you realize that you didn't unsheathe your sword? You were singing, and your blinding power pierced us like an icy wind; It made us strike harder, think faster, and endure more hardship ..."

She turned her head to watch him. The slight motion made her hair emit sparks. "But that - that man wasn't you! I saw a stone, cold and lifeless, covered with glazed frost. And do you know how easily a desert night can destroy even the strongest rock?" She knew he could grasp the answer to her question - He knew!

Shivering with the realization, as well as the cold, he hunched his shoulders and moved closer to the fire. "Sometimes the wind carries their moaning cries over the dunes for miles and miles ... their helpless whisper, just before the cold tears them apart. It's the most eerie sound I know," he himself moaned.

"I've been hearing it all day long - believe me," she leaned towards him, took his face in her caring hands and looked deeply into his eyes. "Hadn't the Shadow Reaver destroyed the fifth statue - then I would have done so myself! I would not allow them to make you a second Guardian - or worse: a King of Light! ... where would that leave me?" The last question she spit out like gone-over wine.

Wearily he leaned his head against her breast, listening to the steady beat of her heart. "Do I have a choice at all?" he asked, full of bitterness. "They've given me a list of names by now. Some of them, not very flattering. What difference will one more make?"

With a sigh she put her arms around his shoulders and gazed at the fire, in search of an answer. Eventually she found it in an old song her mother taught her long ago. She softly started to sing.

"The fireformers of Aradh-Gevan?" he asked, amazed. "_You've got to get close to the flame to see what it's made of_?"

She smiled. "Nearly ... _You've got to get close to the flame to see what __**you**__ are made of_," she corrected him and held him tighter. "Come closer to the fire!"

"But, dear ... I ..."

"Shhh ... come closer, Torias," she whispered and, with a casual wave of her hand, covered the space in front of the fireplace in a warming cocoon of red and golden embers. "Closer, my love ..."


End file.
